I feel as though there is a piece missing to the puzzle that is myself, or a hole left unfilled.
What could possibly be missing?
I often draw to rid myself of that feeling.
Drawing, Painting, Pastel, you name it.
That's what I do, but why do I do it?
I like to express my feelings or emotions if you would, on that empty sheet of paper and maybe even a canvas or two.
I can create anything, any world I want.
I'm the only one in that world, whether it be a drawing of an apocolypse or a happy family having a picnic on the riverside.
I'm in control when it comes to the pure white emptiness and my very own hands.
I can bring death, I can bring happiness, anger, fear and sorrow.
Reality is different, for our lives are being drawn by something much bigger than all of us.
